It's all about Pig
by AzaleaBlue
Summary: Fourteen-year-old Ron has been feeling unwell and he's sure it's nothing but concern for his new pet. Written for the Sinfully Romione Fest'18 -Sloth.


"I'm not hungry."

Five pairs of eyes turned towards him simultaneously. Ron shifted his weight on his other foot, uncomfortable under their combined gaze, while he stood on the last but one step of the rickety old staircase, still grabbing hold of the railing. The pain or rather discomfort within didn't dim at the sight or smell of his mum's cooking- it had to mean he was gravely ill.

"All okay there, Ronniekins?" his mum asked, the sausages sizzling in the pan held aloft, as she watched him with concern.

He grimaced at the nickname she used every time she was worried about him and waited for the inevitable snicker from his brothers. It wasn't a long wait.

"Yeah, all okay there, Ronniekins?" they chorused, and their Mum hushed them in one of her more stern tones.

"I'm fine Mum, really," he replied ignoring his siblings, and also the strange twist in his - well, it was hard to pinpoint the exact location of his discomfort- _most likely his stomach?_ "Mind if I stay in my room for a bit?"

"Are you sure you don't need a healing potion?"

"Not yet, Mum,"

"Okay, off you go, then!" she replied, dumping the pile of sausages onto a large serving plate. He turned around hoping to escape while the twins were engrossed in serving themselves. He climbed a couple of steps and halted.

"Is Pig back yet?" he asked, hoping against hope for some reason. _Maybe he needed a distraction?_ Yeah, Hermione's mile-long letter could be a good distraction any day.

"No, I don't think so, dear," she responded as she sliced the loaf. "You're sure you don't need some toast at least?"

His stomach (or something) gave an ugly lurch and he shook his head. "No, Mum. I'm okay," he replied and dragged his feet up.

Back in his room, he landed on his bed with a loud thump and lay as he landed - long legs and arms dangling from the edges. The aged wood creaking under his weight and he adjusted himself, dragging his limbs inch by inch.

_Bloody hell, what on earth was wrong with him?_

With a long and drawn out sigh, he gazed at his pillows, and absentmindedly poked and prodded the small tear on his bedspread until his finger passed straight through it. Then he forced himself to turn, flopping on his back and let out another sigh.

This had to be the strangest kinda stomach ache he'd ever had. And he was sure he hadn't even eaten anything funny.

He had been feeling queasy the past couple of days. If he gave it a thought, it was, most likely, since he had sent Pig off with Hermione's letter. Yup, Mum had cooked her famous apple pie and he had managed to grab three servings. That was it. His appetite had been on a steady decline since then, and so had the will to do anything fun- or anything at all. It was finally so bad that he was sure he was dying… okay, perhaps that was too melodramatic but there simply _HAD_ to be something wrong with him.

Cool summer breeze wafted in through the open window. Ron turned an inch, angling his head to watch the clear sky, trying to locate a tiny speck of an owl, which he was absolutely positive, carrying a scroll twice his size and just as heavy. He chuckled to himself- Hermione's letters were essays in themselves, neat and lengthy. His replies were quite the opposite, messy and barely seven or eight inches long.

_Maybe, just maybe- he was worried about…Pig?_ Yeah, that had to be it.

He pushed himself up a bit, reclining against the faded orange wall, stretching his long, skinny legs in front of him.

Hmm, that could be a logical explanation.

He had had rotten luck with his pet last year, what with that ruddy rat being an even ruddier dark wizard! And now, no matter how annoying it was, he had a pet of his own, and that too one which was as normal as a barmy owl could be. At least it wasn't a century old. Maybe it wasn't as majestic as Hedwig or as intuitive as Crookshanks but Pig was a decent bird, and he quite loved it. Maybe, he just wanted the bumbling idiot back. Yes, that had to be it! The heaviness in his abdomen eased a tiny bit before returning in full force.

_Hold on- was it the abdomen or his chest?_ Nah- it would be just insane to go nutters worrying about his owl when Pig had managed to deliver Sirius' letter.

With a long drawn out sigh he flopped back onto his stomach. It was highly likely that Hermione had not even sent Pig back. Perhaps she was still busy writing to him. He grinned at the thought. He'd never seen her room but he could picture it easily. It would have a desk, an enormous bookshelf and her bed. All of it would be pretty tidy too, except of course her bed which would have their fourth year's books all laid out. But that would also mean she'd have visited the Diagon Alley without him (and Harry, of course). That did not make him feel good. He was rather looking forward to seeing her(and Harry, of course) sooner than other summers. Or she might have just ordered some reference books through the mail. The tightness in his whatever eased a little.

_The distraction seemed to be working!_

Sometimes he wondered if she ought to have a pet dragon and train it to make deliveries. With the number of books she ordered for 'light' reading, she was sure to kill off a poor bird someday.

He chuckled to himself as he imagined her half-buried amongst large tomes. She might have already finished reading a fair bit of it too. He was sure Hermione had it all planned out. A colour-coded timetable (hopefully with no more hearts)outlining her study schedule would be all marked and ready to be rolled up and packed. And there had to be a reading nook in her house, somewhere she could huddle with her copy of Hogwarts, A History.

He turned and scanned the sky again. Seriously… Pig was such an idiot.

His half-written scroll was still sitting on his desk. Hopefully, Harry would write to him soon and Ron would be able to send back his letter with Hedwig. Perhaps Hedwig was at Hermione's too, and maybe Hermione was busy penning Harry a reply and missed Ron's letter completely? His stomach (or whatever) groaned and twisted so bad suddenly that he thought he was going to throw up. He almost picked himself up to take a spoonful of his Mum's rotten-smelling 'Essence of Leek' before something caught his eyes.

_Was it…_

He jumped off the bed and rushed ahead to peer out of the window, his torso almost leaning out. There seem to be…Nah, it wasn't.

Crestfallen, he dragged his feet back, sure if he could weigh them, they'd weigh a tonne. Ron had barely reached the bed, ready to collapse back the same way as before, with the mattress pressed against his stomach to ease the distress, when there was a mad fluttering of wings and excited hooting.

"PIG!" he beamed, grabbing hold of the superly excited bird and quickly unwrapping the scroll tied to his legs. (Of course, he was just concerned about his pet!)

With the scroll held firmly in one hand, he quickly grabbed a few owl treats and dropped them in Pig's bowl. The tiny bird busied himself, not forgetting to hoot in between bites, probably providing some crucial information in owl-language.

Then he sat down on the bed comfortably and unfurled the scroll, a tiny bit disheartened that it was not as long as he had hoped, but Hermione's handwriting was tiny, so she had still managed to fit a few thousand words in there. She wrote about everything, from how she had prepared a time-table(Hah!) to her Muggle London trip, which she wrote felt a little strange sans magic. And she had not bought her books as she wondered if she could do it later with him (and Harry, of course)! He grinned, rubbed his neck absentmindedly and resumed. She wrote about the books she had read so far and about meeting her grandma and everything in between,

The flippy feeling was back- she hadn't mentioned anything about his invitation yet… He looked up from the letter for a moment, wondering if he could ask his Dad to write to her parents this time. Yeah, if push came to a shove, he'd do it. After all, where was the fun in attending the Quidditch World Cup if he couldn't have his best friends around with him? It was a wizarding spectacle, something he knew neither his best friends would have ever seen- nor had he, for that matter. But he knew the magical world never ceased to amaze her (and Harry, of course) and he couldn't wait to see her eyes sparkle with the excitement of seeing a side of the Wizarding World she had never seen.

He resumed the letter and read every word, how they got a new contuper… no, wait… a computer, a box that was almost magic in itself, but not the kind they knew. She wrote how she was planning to get a small calcuter-no- calculator for his dad when she came down to the Burrow in three weeks, Merlin knew what it was, but his dad would be ecstatic. And how she was- wait… WHAT?!

He jolted up straight and read the sentence again, slowly this time- when she came down to the Burrow in three weeks! He scanned through the rest of the letter, grinning like an idiot._ YES, YES, she was actually coming down!_ Her parents had allowed her to spend the rest of the holidays at the Burrow. Of course, they wanted to ensure that Ron's parents were alright with the arrangement! Pfft, he knew his parents would be okay with it!

He rolled back the scroll and picked himself up. Grabbing a big handful of treats, he dropped them in Pig's feeding bowl and patted the tiny idiot fondly. Pig gave a sleepy but happy hoot and went back to enjoying his reward.

...

Suddenly Ron realised his stomach was growling too. Blimey, was he starving, or what? He knew it, he was just worried about his pet's safe return, nothing else! He pocketed the letter and dashed downstairs, hoping the sausages weren't gone already.


End file.
